Game of Chickens

In between all the visits with family, I’ve also managed to get some shopping done. I had already received my assignment from Saeeda, and in return for being allowed to take this week off by myself to visit Pakistan, I was to bring back some things that are hard to find Stateside. As part of the treasure hunt that I’ve been on, I’ve had to survive the daily Dance with Death that is Karachi traffic.

I’ve realized that I no longer have the stomach for the game of chicken that takes place on the roads. Basically, the larger or faster the moving body, the more legitimate its claim to the “right of way.” Throw in a transportation infrastructure that is not built to handle the daily volume of traffic, and ignite it with ridiculously poor planning (intersecting thoroughfares with no exits) and you have the explosive mess that is Karachi traffic.

The irony is that this is the city where I first learned to drive, but I now cringe in the passenger seat when the driver takes actions considered basic Driving Commandments of Karachi: “Thou shalt never give way”; “Thou shalt take the color of the traffic light as a suggestion only”; “If the shortest distance between your current location and your destination requires driving into oncoming traffic, thou shalt do so” and so on.

What I found myself amazed by on this trip was the ability of the people to defy the laws of Physics and squeeze multiple cars into a lane already choked off by double-parked cars and motorcycles (normal in high traffic shopping areas). I’d be sitting in the passenger seat, watching an oncoming SUV bear down on us on a strip of roadway that in no way could accommodate our two cars, and yet somehow my dad and the SUV would create space without hitting each other or the aforementioned double-parked vehicles. This phenomenon has definitely given me greater appreciation for the amount of elbow room we enjoy in the US, and of the fact that laws of Physics are just a relative thing.

The aforementioned narrow lane full of double-parked cars. It was here that my car faced off against the world's largest SUV, and both of us squeezed by each other by the skin of our teeth.

Family

It was with some trepidation that I set out on Monday. I was going to be visiting family that I hadn’t seen in a really long time. What would they look like? Would we have anything to talk about? The weather did not help.  It’s 104 degrees with 47% humidity - weather that will bake you while making you feel that you are drowning. And the roads, though a little better than what I remember, still feel like you’re traversing a moonscape in certain parts of town.

Still, all of this was forgotten with the very first visit to my cousin’s home – a small apartment in a densely populated area of Karachi (not that there are many sparsely populated parts of Karachi). I hadn’t seen him or his kids in eight years, but it felt like I had just been there a few months back. There was backslapping and joking. Shock on my part at how much older my nephews and nieces had become. Disappointment on my cousin’s part that my wife and munchkins were not with us. But in all, a great reunion.

And this same story played out over and over again, at every home that we visited. There would be a look of surprise on the part of the host (social visits here are usually unannounced, and no one in my family knew that I would be visiting Pakistan), then there would be hugs all around, some initial small talk, and very soon we’d be gossiping as if we had just seen each other a few weeks back.

The day was long as we wrapped up our last visit, but it has been fulfilling.

Home

I was not sure what to expect when I arrived at my childhood home, which my parents recently sold and are now temporarily occupying as renters. I was afraid that in the last eight years all signs of familiarity would have vanished, and that I would struggle to remember the way things were. Today, however, was my first day home, and it has been such a pleasant experience. Everything is just as I remember, with a few minor variations in furniture, or in the configuration of the potted plants, or perhaps in the pictures of the grandkids that are on the walls.

My room is the same as it was from when I first moved away to go to college in the US. There is the picture from when I was in 3^rd grade and which my parents still insist on keeping. The medal I won in my school’s art competition in 1985 still hangs on the wall, clearly inscribed with the words “The Sports Shop” in case I needed to recall where the medal was purchased. There is also the random 500 piece puzzle that I put together as a child, which my father decided needed to be framed and hung for display to all. Mercifully, my parents replaced my furniture with something a little more mature.

The funny thing is that I instinctively knew how to turn the door knob just so to prevent it from coming off the door, or which power switch controlled which light and in what sequence I liked to turn things on. I knew which curtain to keep open to allow in the best daylight into the room without making the room too hot. And I remembered the secret closet hiding place I used in my teen years, and which I was smart enough to empty out a long time ago.

Since my parents just recently sold the house, they are still working on disposing of much of the junk that has accumulated over the course of several decades. What is left for sale includes toys that I used to play with. The Lego sets, the puzzles, my magician’s kits, as well as some ancient electronics that are still fully functional. It was this last that I am going to have to figure out how to take back to the US with me, as I’m sure that these are now vintage and would fetch a smart price if I were to try and sell them.

Meeting Khursheed, our butler-driver-handyman-chef all-in-one was fun too. He hasn’t aged or changed, but was offended that I didn’t bring the wife and kids, especially since he has not met the latter yet. Soon, I promised him.

Between the slow return to familiar surroundings, exploring the neighborhood by foot, and eating fresh desi food, my first day back has been an amazing experience, and one that I so badly wish I could have shared with Saeeda. Still, I’m excited for the rest of the week, when we begin visiting family.

Going Home

It’s been eight years, which is far too long. Eight years since I’ve been back to Pakistan. Eight years since I’ve visited my extended family. It’s funny though, because even that term – extended family – has no meaning for the people of that region. There is no such thing as “extended” because you’re always just “family”. So to have been away for eight years is entirely too long, but I’m headed home now.

A work conference in Turkey provided the best excuse possible to take some vacation and book a four hour onward flight to Pakistan. So here I am, on the plane, about to land in Karachi. I’ve barely slept in the last week because of work and travel, but I’m still strangely alert and excited, even by the small stuff. Such as the all-Urdu chatter in the plane, reminding me of a language that I barely speak now. Or the uniquely desi (but inexplicable) need for my fellow passengers to immediately open the overhead bins the moment the plane lands, despite the seat belt sign or the fact that we have to continue taxiing for another 15 minutes. Or the uniquely desi aversion to deodorant, a fact that I am reminded of as my eyes tear up and my nose hairs begin to singe once the pilot turns off the air conditioning. But then the plane doors open and the line starts inching slowly forward, and all is forgotten.

Because I’m home.